His Life in Their Hands
by PeppyPower
Summary: Post RotK. When the great and fair company travels north from Minas Tirith to bring Théoden King's dead body home to Edoras, all seems to be well. But not entirely for Legolas. Book-gapfiller. Second place Teitho winner October theme "Healing" .
1. Chapter 1

**His Life in Their Hands **

**by PeppyPower/Nina**

Disclaimer: If I owned them, my life would be......sweet Eru.......a real mess. Middle-earth is just my playground. JRR Tolkien created the elf and the ranger. I promise to give them back (almost) unharmed. Written for Teitho Contest October ("Healing"). It won second place.

Beta: Andunea

Warning: Graphic medical detail (I researched the topic and added some real historical explanation) and a suffering elf. Do not read if you can't take.

Rating: K +

Summary: Follows book chapter "Many partings/Return of the King". When the great and fair company travels north from Minas Tirith to bring Théoden King's dead body home to Edoras, all seems to be well - but not entirely for Legolas. As they pass into Anórien and reach the Grey Woods under Amon Din, Aragorn is the one to find out his friend is not as well as expected.

Author's notes: This is a gapfiller - well, sort of an AU gapfiller. PoV would switch a few times, but since there will be paragraph breaks, it won't be hard to notice.

Historical medical details at the end of the fic. No one ever told us about the specific differences in the anatomy of elves and men. Therefore, I feel free to play along with this little issue.

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_"He's got eyes of the bluest skies as if they thought of rain; I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain"_

_(literally: Sweet child of mine, G n R) _

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Chapter one

Anórien, the Grey Woods under Amon Din,

Late Spring, 3019 T. A.

Without haste and at peace they passed into Anórien, and they came to the Grey Wood under Amon Din; and there they heard a sound as of drums beating in the hills, though no living thing could be seen. Then Aragorn let the trumpets be blown, and heralds cried: "Behold, the King Elessar is come! The Forest of Drúadan he gives to Ghan-buri-ghan and to his folk, to be their own for ever and hereafter let no man enter it without their leave!"

Then the drums rolled loudly, and were silent. (1)

They decided to make camp overnight, at the edge of the Grey Wood - always a process of extraordinary charges and effort because not only fair was the company, but great of number also. Aragorn watched as Gondor's knights and some elves of Imladris put up the tents. His eyes fell on both his brothers leaving the camp to go out hunting - it was a real task feeding those many members of the travelling company and he was thankful he could trust on his family's aid, undemanded and without asking, as always.

Aragorn's senses were alert and keen still, but since the Ringwar was over he could detect no pursuit, and so he allowed himself to relax for a moment.

His gaze fell on the elf and the dwarf in some distance. Obviously, Gimli had begun one of their friendly banters concerning warrior's antics. The king smiled about the not too similar pair. But elf and dwarf were both laughing and while Gimli headed to help with the tents, Legolas lead Arod to the horse paddock, the elf's gaze wandering the trees and bushes; green and alive again now that the warm days told of the changing season.

Those glorious spring days brought to life all that had been dormant during the long, cold winter; a winter not only caused by the forces of nature but by the dark forces also - bulbs and buds, younger and older trees, burst out with fresh and almost contagious spirit. While most of the men were occupied, Aragorn observed Legolas who was studying a wild grown very old maple tree some distance away from the camp. He seemed to marvel at its branches, covered in enormous white-and-purple blooms, stretching upward, into forever. Aragorn expected his friend to reach up, grab one of the branches and disappear into the foliage in the blink of an eye, but he looked stunned and surprised as Legolas only stood there, watching. The elf seemed uneasy, as if he weren't feeling well. To Aragorn, it was the first time that his movements occurred awkward, not as graceful as they would normally appear.

Legolas laid his hand on the tree trunk, his face remaining perfectly neutral. He closed his eyes. Slowly, he seated himself beneath the tree, eyes still closed, his face a mask of elven pride and stubborness. Aragorn knew that look well; the look of one painfully trying to hide something. Oh, how he knew Legolas and his pride - the elf would have claimed he was feeling fine even if he were skewered by an Orc sword.

'He looks..........tired? Sad or - perhaps - ill? But since elves did not suffer illness, he couldn't be sick, could he?' Aragorn's argument with himself did not lead to a conclusion. Quietely, he wandered towards the wild maple tree and the elf obviously drawing strength from it.

Aragorn looked down at the resting elf. Legolas - sleeping? Fast asleep within mere seconds? In the bright daylight, next to a noisy camp place? With his eyes closed? This was not right. Aragorn knelt down next to his friend and his experienced healer's eyes scanned the still face of the elf. It had him worried that he had made it so close to the prone figure without being noticed. For once, he was taking no pride in being able to draw near unheard. Aragorn found the fact alarming that there was the tiniest bit of perspiration on the prominent cheeks. He thought about looking for his foster father but tried the straight path first and whispered his friend's name.

"Legolas?" The elf opened his eyes, he looked surprised and seemed to try and focus his gaze upon Aragorn. He did not answer.

"I am sorry to disturb you, but.....is anything.....amiss? How do you fare, my friend? It is only afternoon, all men and elves are busy building up camp and you are merely.........sleeping? That is not like you, Legolas. And, please, do not tell me you were just tired and needed rest because I have watched over your sleep those last days - it was deep and undisturbed. So tell me. What ails you? Is it.......the sea longing? For if it is, we should tell my father, he might be able to ease your suffering," Aragorn offered.

* * *

Legolas listened, too weary to answer. Truth to be told, he did not feel well, not at all. It had already started ere the company had prepared leaving the White City. First, it had only been a slight tingle in his belly, inside his gut; a strange feeling like a constant tearing at his innards. The first day away from Minas Tirith brought another sensation: Pain. Every step Arod took, everytime Gimli grabbed his cloak or hip to steady himself on the grey mount sent waves of white hot pain through his abdomen. Legolas had ceased eating first, since in a quiet and undisturbed moment, he had found himself retching and throwing up heavily.

So no nourishment had entered his stomach for days. When Aragorn and his friends met to share their mealtime at camp, Legolas would excuse himself, pretending to care for the horses or rejoice in those quiet days of a beautiful spring. Always, his friends would send him a look, suspiciously at best, but Legolas' smile had eased their minds, since he had promised he would eat when he were hungry.

He knew, after all those years with Lord Elrond and his sons, he should muster the pride and honesty to reveal his shape to the healers. But strange illness beckoning was too improbable a condition that he simply didn't find a way to collect himself and do so.

The pain itself seemed tricky and delicate. As if it longed to break him. Legolas knew it was of no use; he had to tell. And he had better do it now, before those waves of cruel ailments would crush him entirely. He could and should trust his friend. With a voice almost as small as an elfling's, head bowed, he began his explaining. He told of the sharp pain in his gut, a pain so fresh and new it would almost bring him to his knees. "There is no way, Aragorn, I shall understand this suffering myself. Poison, perhaps? But how so?" he nearly whispered.

Legolas felt that Aragorn was alarmed in some way, but he figured the king would try and keep his calm exterior. 'As a healer, he should know about all those different outcomes,' the elven archer thought. He tried to brace himself, for he knew what was going to come. One look at Aragorn's conflicted and not at all calm face was enough.

"Legolas, it is only a request, but would you please come with me, follow me into my tent? There I shall examine you together with Lord Elrond. I guess I know what ails you but must confirm this." He offered a hand to the sitting elf and Legolas took it, trying to stay as composed as possible on his way to the king's tent. He had known Aragorn was going to ask this of him. The elf sighed. He never liked others touching him in case of an injury or yet, a strange ailment, even those as trusted as Aragorn. Even if they had known each other for many decades, Legolas still felt ashamed in the light of an illness or injury. As an elf, he was not supposed to be ill. It annoyed and disgusted him. As they reached the king's tent, Aragorn directed him to take off his tunic and under shirt and while the elf sat down on a heap of bedrolls and blankets, Aragorn moved to summon his foster father. After a few moments, an almost astonished Lord of Imladris drew back the tent flap. Legolas closed his eyes in shame and dismay.

The elven Lord spoke, but the blonde elf's eyes remained closed. "Estel tells me you have been feeling ill, Legolas. He also tells me about his presumptions. I am sorry, but I must ask you to lay down, flat on your back, so we can begin our examination. I know you do not like being in this position, Legolas. Estel and I, we both know that your elven pride runs deep. But I bid you trust us."

Without a word, Legolas nodded and did as he had been asked. Laying on the bedrolls and blankets, shivering, he felt Estel's hands unlacing his leggings, so he could draw them down to rest below Legolas' hips. Suddenly, the elf felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he had rarely experienced before. There was nowhere to hide and he could not help it - a lonely tear of shame ran down his cheek and his friend, who had turned to the elf's face again, caught it with his finger.

* * *

The king of Gondor and Arnor knew that he was being granted a rare view into the childlike soul which the proud son of Thranduil kept carefully hidden behind his elven pride and stamina. Encouraging words, spoken in the Mirkwood prince's native tongue, found their way into Legolas' ear and he seemed to relax. But there was no time. If Aragorn was right and Legolas "illness" turned out to be what he feared, then they had to act quickly, before his friend's condition became worse. He had once seen a young girl die of this ailment and this memory and fear troubled him greatly.

Aragorn sighed as his cool fingers detected the fast and unsteady pulse on Legolas neck, the elf's skin felt warm and feverish under his fingertips. Rare was it that he experienced a moment like this, his friend so vulnerable and dependent on the help of others. He was aware of the fact that Legolas simply abominated this situation. But he had no choice. Legolas' life was in their hands now. Strange it appeared that the elf had been so fortunate as to go through the Ringwar almost unscathed and now after all those fierce battles, here he was, tormented and in pain. It hurt seeing a friend closer as a brother suffering so.

* * *

Lord Elrond's skilled fingers were on the younger elf's abdomen already. And even if Legolas tried to put his racing mind at rest, his face did not stay calm at the touch. As Elrond's elegant digits moved over the hot flesh, pressing one particular spot between the blonde archer's right navel and hipbone, red hot fire blossomed from Legolas' side, skittering through his body and into his very fëa. The pain! Ai, the pain! Legolas, always so proud and fair, was powerless to stop himself from yelling. Each part of his being foundered in soul tearing terror with nothing to cling to. But there was Aragorn. Almost immediately, his friend's soft voice in his ear started whispering the Grey Tongue to offer relief. It was of no use; Legolas had barely enough strength left to bite his lower lip and keep himself from crying out again.

Through a wall of pain and suffering, he heard Elrond's clear voice, comforting, determined: "Child, I am truly sorry I have to put you through this, but know that we have found the illness that ails you. It is not even an illness itself, for it can happen to elves as to men. But it can be cured. Completely. Only be aware that there is not much time left. I will tell you this: There is a small part in your gut, a small and useless appendix, in which something you ingested got stuck. This small part of your innards, only as long as my thumb, is highly inflamed and we need to......remove it. Quickly. Do you trust me, Legolas?"

The younger elf finally opened his eyes and a cerulean blue, pain clouded gaze found Estel's assuring and warm grey eyes first and, hereafter, Elrond's proficient and soothing glance.

"I.....do trust you. As always, my Lord. It is not the first time you are compelled to heal my body. Aye, I trust you. All of you. Do as you must." Subtly, the elf's fingers sought out the ones of the king and ranger; an act of friendship, born of courage and confidence. "Estel," his condition made him use his friend's childhood name, "would you please tell Gimli about my whereabouts? He would need to look after Arod for me."

Aragorn squeezed Legolas' hand, chuckling: "It is as it has always been; the others are more important to you than your own life. Worry not, Arod will be taken care of. You know that Arwen likes tending to him, since she has always loved grey horses. But I will summon Gimli so we can be at your side. The both of us."

The elf tried and bowed his head in a thankful gesture, but agony forced his eyes shut again. All his eyes could see, regardless of will or power, was scarlet pain.

* * *

Evening mood had replaced the busy afternoon at camp; men and elves were sitting around campfires, the wood crackling in the flames. They were eating, talking and laughing, telling tales about battles which had come to pass. It was the hour ere Forest owls and owlets would start their lonely calls. Elrond did not like to tend Legolas and perform the needed procedure given the fading daylight, but preparations had taken their time. Furthermore, they had been waiting for the twins to return from hunting. Now the healer himself and his three sons were in Aragorn's tent with Legolas. Gimli was sitting next to his elven friend, holding one of his hands. Small torches and candles had been brought near, many of them, so the light would be sufficient. Elrond and his sons were washing their hands in a bowl of warm water prepared for just that purpose. Elladan was the first to finish cleaning his hands and almost solemnly, he went to the kettle sitting on the fire, preparing the needed sleeping herbs.

The smell of the red poppyseed draught was not new to Legolas and in times of agony, it seemed a blessing, even to him. As Elladan helped him drink the amount ready to send an elf of Legolas' weight and condition into oblivion, he almost greedily accepted the medicated tea.

"Legolas, listen to me," Elrond's soft voice spoke from somewhere above him "this is not only poppyseed. I added some other herbs to losen your muscles while you sleep and to help with the breathing. Be still and let sleep overcome you. Relax and rest, child. Do not fight it, even if you will experience some uncomfortable moments now. Please?"

"Aye....." the blonde elf heard his own voice sounding unfocused already and soon, unending but sweet darkness beckoned. His hold slipped and he sank into blackness once more. But a tiny part of his fleeing conscience remembered Elrond's words and suddenly, icy fire crawled through every part of his body until it grasped at his mind, heart and every sense he clung to. Legolas did not feel the pair of hands cradle his tense shoulders through the imaginary fire. He did not feel as Elrohir took the last garments off his body, he did not sense as hot, herb scented water cleaned his now naked body and limbs. The only thing he still heard was a steady flow of Sindarin that struggled into his failing ears. He knew not who spoke the words, which comforted him; but it mattered not. They promised hope, light, warmth, trust - and Legolas let go, his mind and fëa seeking refuge somewhere else until the storm invading his body was over.

TBC

(1) JRR Tolkien, The Return of The King: Many Partings

Feedback is appreciated, as always. I'd love to hear from you. What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**His Life in Their Hands**

Chapter two

For complete disclaimer, rating and author's notes please see chapter one.

Warning: Graphic medical details ahead. I thoroughly researched them. I am a studied vet also. Therefore, I should know of what I speak. If you detect an error or flaw in my description of this surgical procedure, please let me know.

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_But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them._

_Paulo Coelho_

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Aragorn placed his hand just above the skin, not really wanting to touch it. He flexed his fingers and gripped the sharp knife tighter, sighing. He could do that. He had done it before, numerous times: Open the skin and cut into the muscle and the tissue bag containing the innards, push your fingers inside to reveal the inner organs, and the gut, find the infected appendix. Then apply some stitches using self absorbing sinew thread and, hereafter, remove the offending piece of flesh with a clean cut, it was but a small and not necessary part of the gut.

The knife's shiny surface blinked in the light of the torches around them. But before he could lower it onto the pale flesh, Lord Elrond laid his own hand over the one of his foster son.

"I will do it," he said simply.

"Ada....that is not necessary. I know the procedure."

Elrond nodded and smiled that serene smile he could conjure at the drop of a hat - even in a situation as serious as this. He looked his son in the eye. "Of course you do. But this is......different......this is Legolas. Think about it."

Aragorn dropped his gaze. Aye, this was Legolas. He loved him more than his own life. And he dreaded doing the first cut.

Wordlessly, he passed the knife to the elven lord kneeling on the opposite site of their patient. Elrond took the offered device and, judging its weight and length in only a fracture of time, did not hesitate. He brought it down in one fluid movement to open Legolas' hot flesh between his navel and right hipbone. Aragorn closed his eyes, but only for a brief moment. This was Legolas, yes, but he himself was a king and a healer still and weren't his hands supposed to heal?

Without a word being said, Elladan was there with fresh white linen to remove all the blood leaving the wound. The family members were used to working together when it came to tending a patient. In the light of the torches and candles around them, Legolas' elven blood appeared like shining silver, glittering on his ill belly.

Elrond worked with concentration. He widened the cut, an almost elegant heap on flawless and pale skin and gave the knife to Elrohir before addressing his foster son again.

"I have need of your fingers, Estel. Since I do not have my surgeon's equipment with me, you will have to hold the wound open," he said and Aragorn moved forward to insert the first two digits of each hand into the bleeding cut. He felt the warm blood, pounding with each and every beat of Legolas' heart, but he not only felt, but smelled the blood of his friend, too. Slowly, as if not to cause anymore pain, he spread his fingers and opened the wound so Elrond had a good look at Legolas' intestines. The inner organs' shiny pink was astonishing as always. Almost no healer dared opening the abdomen of men or elves; almost no healer had thousands of years of healing practice to learn with dead bodies just as Elrond had. The elf lord gave Aragorn an encouraging smile and his own diligent and skilled fingers disappeared inside the wide cut.

* * *

The smell of Legolas' blood made Aragorn nauseous; he knew about the coppery scent of spilled blood on battlefields. But this was his friend, his brother in arms. Aragorn watched as his foster father carefully laid aside parts of the gut to get to this very special place underneath, this small place causing all this pain. He stretched his fingers a little more as to allow the older healer a clearer view, Elladan and Elrohir were watching the scene from behind their shoulders.

Elrond did not speak, nor did he ask for further assistance. Aragorn patiently held the muscle and skin away so his father had all the space he needed. He knew this would be agony to their patient if he were awake. But Legolas' sleep occured to be quiet and deep. Perhaps a little too deep. Aragorn saw their dwarven friend sitting next to him, still holding the elf's clammy hand in his own, stroking the long fingers with his thumb. His eyes on Legolas fair face, Gimli kept himself collected, obviously not willing to see all the blood leaving his friend's pale body.

"Aragorn," Gimli suddenly whispered, unexpected, "would you please take a look at him for a moment......?"

The twins and Aragorn directed their gaze to the still face.........and frowned. Legolas was not breathing easily, as expected. His lungs took in the needed air in labored and shallow breaths, his lips, partly open, had a slight bluish tint.

"Ada.........," Aragorn started, alarmed.

"I know, my son. I assume we gave him too much of the sleeping herb. I should have known that this elven child would try and trick me. Seeing in what shape he is right now, I would guess he hasn't been eating properly since we left the White City. Possibly longer. Elven bodies are resilient, but they do not forgive everything." He had spoken without taking his eyes off his task. "Elrohir, I would ask you to put three fingertips of the goat weed and common hop salve I made under his tongue. The tissue there will absorb it quickly. That is the best way of helping his body deal with the stress we're inflicting upon it."

Elrohir brought the salve and, while Elladan opened the mouth of the sleeping elf, applied the needed medicine. It took some time, but Legolas was starting to breathe normally again. Aragorn sighed, relief flooding through him. His gaze wandered from Legolas face back to the wound on his abdomen. The huge wound, Aragorn said to himself.

Then he heard Elrond's soft voice: "Estel, spread your fingers just a little bit wider, I am sorry, but I will have to cut higher. This wormlike addendum isn't always where it is supposed to be." Elrohir offered the now cleaned knife again and Elrond's blood stained hand took it. Once more, Aragorn closed his eyes and suddenly, a tidal wave of memories invaded his mind. He was a ten year old boy again, back in Imladris. Just before the Yule festivities, his belly had begun hurting immensly. The memory was hazy, clouded, and only partially existing. A lot was lost.

It took Elrond one swift motion and the cut was another inch longer. "It is well elves are so skinny, this one even more so. All the time I had to do this for the race of men, I would encounter not only muscle and skin tissue...."

Aragorn heard him almost chuckle. "Do you want to tell me when you removed my own appendix, back when I was ten years old, there was more than that - skin and muscle?"

A smile appeared on Elronds face: "I am sorry to say Estel: Aye, there was. Something called fat tissue. And this makes the procedure even harder, for the healing of the wound takes longer and the wound itself is exposed to infection more easily."

"I remember being skinny myself when I was the age of ten. I still am," Aragorn protested. His arms began to tire because he had to hold the cut open very steadily.

Now Elrond laughed. "Aye, you were a small and skinny child, Estel. And you were very ill those days, because you developed a high fever and hence we feared for your life - and all that because of a cherry stone. That is what we found after we had cut out your appendix."

"Strange it is that most of he time we would encounter cherry or plum stones stuck inside the removed flesh. Or chicken bones," Elrohir remarked.

"Tell us, Ada: Why does nature not simply cease giving us those appendices? They bring naught but pain and trouble." It was Elladan's turn to speak out the common thought.

"That, my dear son, I have never discovered myself. And now I found Legolas' little problem here." His hand came up from the depths of the wide wound and his fingers were gently gripping the red and infected piece of flesh. The tissue was not only an angry, inflamed deep red, but also weeping out yellow fluids. The smell was an atrocity to the ones helping with the procedure.

"We are fortunate, because it is still intact and we only need to rinse his abdomen once. I am going to do the sutures right at the point where it is attached and then, I am going to remove it." Elrohir offered the needle and the self-absorbing sinew thread and Elrond worked quickly and precisely, his long millennia of healing experience and expertise clearly shown in each and every movement of his skilled fingers.

Suddenly, Legolas started moaning and Aragorn sent his father another alarming view. Elrond stayed calm, yet a clear mind was the only thing needed in such a situation.

"Elladan, his sleep seems to be hard to control today. I wish you to give him more of the now cold poppyseed draught and then watch him closely."

His son complied and Aragorn heard Gimli whisper encouraging words into Legolas' ear.

The rest of the procedure went swiftly and without further hindrances. The Lord of Imladris finished removing the infected flesh and, after that being done, opened the appendix to find - a cherry stone embedded in the soft tissue. Now it was Aragorn who was chuckling. "That makes us equals once again, but this time, it looks like I am Legolas' senior," he grinned.

* * *

Almost solemnly, Elrond went to clean his bloodstained hands. After that, his right hand sought out the blonde Sinda's hot forehead. Silently, he closed his eyes and concentrated. His sons remained as quiet and still as possible, prudent minds watching their father as his unique, superior and pure elven healing power encountered Legolas' numb, resting conscience. The ill ellon's glow, steadfast hitherto but nearly non existend anymore after such an awful procedure, suddenly became bright, significant and deliberate once again. The strength Elrond was offering to the younger elf was plain and unvarnished, pushing Legolas' own natural healing ability to finish the untrammeled physical recovery. The elven Lord inhaled and withdraw his hand, leaving the prince of Eryn Lasgalen with a considerate, robust amount of sensitive energy. Legolas was yet to heal completely, but he had been given a dependable start.

The Lord of Imladris and his foster son stepped aside to let Elladan and Elrohir finish what they had started.

The twins went to flush Legolas' opened belly with warm, herb scented water and after that, they closed the deep cut. "Those outside stitches will have to be removed. I bet Legolas is going to loathe this procedure," Elrohir remarked when he covered the sutured wound with a large dressing. They partly redressed the elf, leaving him with only his undergarments, and drew soft blankets over the body. "Now we wait," Aragorn whispered as they cleaned up the tent and moved away all that was no longer needed. Unexpectedly, Gimli got up from his spot next to Legolas' head, looking slightly......ill: "I....I.... need some fresh air. I will be back," he said and quickly left the tent. The three brothers and their father looked at each other, stunned, eyebrows raised.

TBC

Again, please let my know what you think. Feedback is most appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**His Life in Their Hands**

by Nina/PeppyPower

For complete disclaimer and rating, please see chapter one. Thanks to Andunea for her beta-services.

Welcome back, mellyn! This is the final part and I wanted to post it today to have more room for my other stories. "Skills of a Healer" will be updated before the weekend, too.

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_The art of healing comes from nature, not from the physician. Therefore the physician must start from nature, with an open mind.  
Philipus Aureolus Paracelsus_

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The way back to wakefulness was the hardest part. He knew that; even if he wasn't aware of being in this state at present. Time floated in and out of his awareness, playing tricks on him. Legolas was unsure whether moments or days had elapsed since Elladan had given him the sleeping draught. This time, it wasn't his elven hearing being restored to him. The smell returned first. The smell of grass and humid air, of branches burning in a fire, of sweet herbs, the particular smell of horses. It hung in the air with a lightness he did not expect. Next was pain. His body felt as if it were betraying him. No, not the entire body, but his abdomen. It hurt to breath. To just move a muscle. He moaned and tried to stay still. But even moaning hurt. Then he felt familiar presences, heard well-known voices. Sound was coming back to him, too. He felt a wet cloth being pressed to his clammy brow. "Easy, mellon, hush. Do not move. It might hurt too much. Just be still. Rest." The words and syllables, spoken in his native tongue, harmonized seamlessly with each other.

Aragorn.

He knew the voice better than his own and tried to open his eyes. What a task. His lids were heavy, as if they had been closed for centuries. But Legolas tried again and finally, sight returned to him, too. The twilight of pre dawn clouded the scene around him, but his tired and pain stricken eyes focused on Aragorn. Elessar, he corrected his sluggish mind. The King of Gondor and Arnor graced him with a bright smile: "Welcome back, my friend. We managed to remove the piece of flesh that ailed you. Stay on your back and sleep. You need to restore your strength."

Legolas felt the blanket being lifted off his body and Aragorn moved to take a look at his abdomen. Suddenly, the elf felt a great wave of nausea roll over him and he could not help but just turn his head followed by his whole body to try and empty his stomach which had only contained a small amount of healing tea. Dry heaves sent burning hot tears into his eyes and the retching hurt his belly immensely. Only a few drops of sour liquid remained on his trembling lips.

"Shh… it is going to be all right," Aragorn murmured, cleaning the elf's face with a fresh cloth. "Relax and just hold on, Legolas, it is almost over. It will be well." Bare of all the strength left to him, Legolas felt himself being turned on his back again. The undergarments he was wearing were being drawn aside to reveal his belly to the waiting world. If the elf objected to the scrutiny he refrained from saying anything. Before his fea fled into sweet oblivion, one thought manifested in Legolas' tired mind: 'What have they done to me?'

* * *

The next time he woke, his mind wasn't in tumult any longer. Prominent was the pain, and the thirst. Legolas opened pain blurred eyes and found himself still laying on a heap of blankets. The ground underneath was soft, young green grass in a clearing. The early twilight had changed; now, it looked as if it were late morning. Through the opened tent flap, he saw the shadowed peaks of Amon Din cumulating into fresh white clouds and blue skies. A warm gust of air told of a bright and sunny spring day. Aragorn was still at his side but when Legolas focused on the limp form next to him, he saw that his friend was indeed sitting there, legs crossed - fast asleep.

"He had kept watch for hours, laddie, and now that you join us again, you find him sleeping." Gimli came near and knelt beside him, smiling.

Legolas tried a smile himself, but knew he must be failing. "Gimli. I........I.......am......thirsty......if I may have some water?" His voice wasn't more than a cracked whisper. Thirsty. Aye. What would he give for a drink of cool, clear water!

"I am sorry, child. You will have to wait until evening to have some water. Your elven healing should have sealed the hole in your innards by then. I can only give you a healing tea now." Legolas turned his head and saw Lord Elrond kneeling on the other side of his form. He nodded slowly - better a cup of tea than no liquid at all. It almost amused him that the elven lord would call him "child" still, but it also comforted him in some way. Compared to the older elf's age, or the age of his own father, he was indeed an elven child.

Legolas tried not to moan as the Lord of Imladris helped him lift his head, since he did not want to wake Aragorn. Elrond held the cup as the younger elf made to take small sips. The draught was bitter and almost too hot, but Legolas drank obedientely. He knew before he felt that painkilling and sleeping herbs must have been added to the hot tea. Elrond smiled. "Rest, young one. Only in sleep will you be able to restore your strength. Healing means sleeping. We will watch over you." Elrond's long, elegant and skilled fingers once again found their way to Legolas' forehead and with a soft sigh, the blonde archer fell into a fitful slumber.

* * *

It was the evening after the procedure that found Legolas awake again. This time, exhausted blue eyes met Aragorn's silver gaze and the king smiled this well-known ranger smile of his. "So, you finally decided you had enough sleep, my friend. It is well. And I am glad you are awake now. How are you feeling? Are you in any pain still? Speak truthfully, please. I do not like it when you hide something from us as you did those last days." He watched as Legolas tried to compose himself. The elf's face was once again pale, since the fever was gone now.

"Aragorn. I still feel tired but the pain is bearable. If I stay still. I am sorry I am the reason our company will be delayed."

"It has been but a day, Legolas. Your elven healing will make this a swift recovery. You are not delaying anything. We will stay as long as we must." Aragorn brought a cup of fresh, cold water and the elf drank greedily, asking for more.

"Easy, my friend, I do not want you to feel ill again. You shall have more water, but first, let me give you this healing tea. But I must warn you, it might be bitter. At least that is what my father told me." He produced another cup with a warm, milky green liquid and Legolas drank it without his usual banter. Aragorn knew his friend wanted to get well again as fast as his healing allowed. Within a short time, Aragorn thought Legolas was looking much better. The elf's face had almost his normal color again and Legolas' eyes did not seem so pain stricken any longer. The king and healer marvelled at the elven healing, always a blessing, since Legolas had been through enough life-threatening injuries.

When Legolas said that he was hungry, Aragorn could not help but laugh.

"Well, Estel, I cannot remember eating at all - it feels as if I haven't eaten in one week or so. It should be perfectly normal that I am hungry." The elf looked so innocent making that statement that Aragorn almost felt bad for his answer.

"Oh, how I like to hear you say that you are starving, my friend. But, sadly, you will have to wait until the morning. Since we had to cut at your innards, we must make sure the gut heals nicely. Tomorrow, you can have some oatmeal. The day after, we can try with broth and vegetable soup. But no raw fruits, cheese and vegetables or lembas bread for one week. Your gut needs time to heal." Legolas' facial expression turned into a sour look and Aragorn laughed again.

The elf seemed to think about something, and then, out of the blue, asked: "How many?"

"How many what?"

"Stitches, of course. Do you not remember our game, Estel? Beating each other by the count of the stitches?"

The king and former ranger groaned. "Oh, Legolas, are we still counting? That's ridiculous, since the shadow is no more and hence we should be living quietly and at peace - without further injuries. And since both of us are left without an appendix now, there should be no such procedure like this waiting for us any longer. But let me see; I have to inspect your wound and change the dressing anyway."

Chuckling, Aragorn draw back the blanket to let it rest at Legolas' bony hips. His fingers took away the undergarments and removed the long wound dressing. He studied the scar which marred the right side of Legolas' stomach. "One.....two...three.....four.....there are twenty six stitches on the outer skin, but I do not know how many sutures it took for my father to close the hole in your ......"

"Eleven," a nearby voice said mirthfully and Lord Elrond stepped into the tent, followed by Gandalf. "I brought your first visitor, Legolas," he explained.

The white wizard entered the tent, a small bowl with blooming flowers in his hand. "Legolas. I am glad to hear you are feeling better. Even if I do not understand that a fair being like you could get ill." He chuckled and sat on a pillow next to the young elf. "I brought you something," he said, and the scent of those wild flowers filled the king's tent. Legolas' eyes widened in joy and he offered his companions a smile as bright as the rays of Anor. "Thank you so much, Mithrandir, you always know what I need most." His long, still trembling fingers carefully touched the delicate leafs of the small flowers.

Gandalf did not stop chuckling. "You know, our Master dwarf did tell me about Aragorn now indeed being your senior. I was not astonished to hear about the reason of your flesh's illness." Yet, Gandalf almost grinned.

Legolas looked at him, stunned. "What do you mean.....Aragorn being my senior?"

Now it was the turn of the king and healer to join the conversation. "Oh, I forgot telling you, my friend: It has been a cherry stone that we have found in your appendix." His lips started twitching, but his face remained neutral - almost. Then a small, warm smile danced across his features and he could not stay calm any longer.

Legolas' confused look cleared at once: "Aye, Aragon, now I know of what you speak - I remember you telling me about a cherry stone you ingested when you were ten years old. A cherry stone keeping you away from the Yule festivities. I did not understand back then, but I do now - after all." His smile returned: "Herein you shall be my senior then. Again something we share."

His hand searched Aragorn's hand again in a friendly gesture, a gesture so well known between the two of them.

Legolas then addressed the Lord of Imladris, who was standing in one corner of the tent, preparing more of the healing tea Legolas would still need: "I thank you all for saving my life....once again," the young elf said, nodding the graceful nod that somehow only he could manage. Elrond only smiled, bowing his head.

Aragorn took Legolas' hand in his own, stroking the long, pale digits with his calloused fingers, but he did not drop the former subject: "I was just wondering, Legolas: Where and how did you get that stone since there are no cherries growing on the trees yet?"

Legolas felt his cheeks blushing: "Well, my friend, perhaps I should tell you a secret - a secret about delicious cherry jam. The jam your cooks made last year, I am afraid. I guess I was the one eating the last remnants of it....without bread and butter, just the jam. As I said, delicious - the sweetness, the color, the aroma......."

"Tell me if I venture too far, but I never knew you were a sweet being, Legolas," Gandalf inserted mischievously and the company in the tent started laughing. Even Legolas, whose belly still hurt when he was laughing, joined in.

* * *

They continued their journey without further delay on the third day after the procedure they had performed on Legolas - the company offering a strange picture never before seen: Gimli, now riding with Aragorn so as not to disturb Legolas' still healing wound.

Arod was a steed they knew would carry his injured master with great diligence. And so the grey horse did.

As both Elrond and Aragorn had predicted, the elf's recovery became a swift one. Elladan removed Legolas' outside stitches on the seventh day, his brothers being pleased they did not have to hold down a swearing or struggling Legolas. At another campsite along the Great West Road, the elf sat in the king's tent again and waited patiently until all the stitches had left his skin. After that, the proud prince of Eryn Lasgalen did not complain of pain any longer. But everytime his eyes would meet Aragorn's, his gaze spoke of the unending knowledge that his life had truly been in their hands and that he had come to terms with the feeling of being vulnerable in a way he had rarely experienced before. A slowly fading scar, almost an elegant heap, reminded him of that.

At length after fifteen days of journey the wain of King Théoden passed through the green fields of Rohan and came to Edoras; and there they all rested. The Golden Hall was arrayed with fair hangings and it was filled with light, and there was held the highest feast that it had known since the days of its building. (2)

End

(2): JRR Tolkien, The Return of The King: Many Partings

Feedback, anyone ? I'd love to hear what you think.

Historical medical details and last notes: I gave the poor elf an appendicitis this time. As I was saying before, no one ever told us about specific differences in the anatomy of elves and men in general. We only know that elves are more resilient and their bodies are stronger, hiding some strength normal men could not muster. I reckon there should be some similarities, though.

Appendicitis in medical history:

When one considers the frequency of diagnosis and treatment of appendicitis nowadays, one might imagine that the condition was known and well treated far back in antiquity. Most of the history of appendicitis and appendectomy has been made and written during the past two generations, however. This does not mean that light has not been sought on this subject ever since the time of the Fathers of Medicine. And considering the difficulties at hand, these ancient surgeons and physicians did exceedingly well. Of course, abdominal surgery as practiced today is not an old art, therefore, one might not have expected an appendectomy to have been performed so many years ago. In Hypocrites' time they were "cutting for the stone," when an appendix was not even known to exist. What was not known to exist surely could not be prognosticated or treated. Anatomical findings: Galen, who of all the ancients gave by far the most complete anatomical descriptions, found no appendix because he dissected only monkeys, which have no appendix. And what Galen did not see or describe, no one saw or quoted throughout the Middle Ages.

So it was that Berengarius Carpus, professor of surgery at Pavia and Bologna, who gave us our first description of this structure in 1522. He spoke of there being found a certain bowel "additamentum" empty within, and in breadth less than the smallest finger of the hand, and of a length of three inches or thereabouts. Vesalius, writing twenty-one years later, even gave several illustrations. Much confusion appeared to exist at this time between the caecum and the appendix, shown in the writings of Stephanus (1545) and enlightened by Ambrose Pare in 1582. Vesalius insisted on calling the appendix vermiformis the caecum because of its true blind pouch nature; whereas, as he pointed out, the so-called caecum has three openings, namely, the colon, ileum and appendix.

Fallopius, writing in 1561, appeared to have been the first writer to compare the appendix to a worm; and Bauhin (1579) to ascribe there to a function. He proposed the ingenious theory that the appendix served in intrauterine life as a receptacle for the faexes; from which it seemed not improbable that he confounded it with the diverticulum described nearly two hundred years later by Meckel, whose name it bears. Laurentiue (1600), Vidus Vidius, Fabricius ab Aquapendente, Morgani (1706), Verheyn (1710), Santorini (1724), Vosse (1749), Weitbrecht (1747), Haller (1778), and Sapatier (1781) - all names of anatomists to be conjured with, added more or less insignificant ideas concerning the structure of the appendix and entered upon useless controversy concerning the name, function, position, etc. of the appendix vermiformis. It took some time until, after many tries - more or less succesfull - appendix-surgery became known to the physicians and surgeons, patient's proper anaesthesia still being one of the problems:

In 1889, Lawson Tait split open and drained an inflamed appendix without removing it, and his patient recovered. And so it goes. By 1890 one author has listed nearly a hundred appendiceal operators, and his collection is far from complete. But to Thomas G. Morton of Philadelphia belongs the credit of the first successful operation for the removal of the appendix, deliberately undertaken with an alternative diagnosis of disease in the organ. Dr. Ellson of Philadelphia gave this report of this case just as presented to the College of Physicians, June 1, 1887 by Dr. Woodbury:

"I have the honor of presenting this evening to the College a private patient who five weeks ago today was apparently beyond recovery, with perityphlitis abscess. Dr. Thomas G. Morton, the abscess evacuated and the appendix removed at its origin, almost divided by an ulcer, skillfully performed Laparotomy. I also present the specimen taken from the patient; the appendix. Accompanying it is a small concretion, resembling in size and general appearance a cherry stone (which it was) that evidently was the cause of the ulceration."

Today, appendectomies are common surgeries and older such as younger surgeons are very well trained in performing them. In total, those surgeries won't leave you with as many sutures anymore as I gave the poor elf in this story. The point in between navel and hipbone, which Elrond touched to confirm his diagnosis is called - after his inventor - McBurney. Today, the patient's reaction when pressing this special spot is still a big part to the diagnosis. I said bye-bye to my own appendix when I was 14, during summer break.


End file.
